I have a tendency to laugh at the wrong times. At inappropriate times. I have a twisted sense of humor and have occasionally found myself in situations where it’s not necessarily appropriate to laugh but where I just can’t help myself. Now, I don’t want to bog you down with too much technical jargon about the human psyche, human behavior, and my studies of the brain but stay with me here. This affliction I have is known in the business as “Chuckles the Clown Syndrome”.
With that in mind, let me tell you a story about our evening last night. The lovely Missus and I went to dinner last night to celebrate my 50th birthday. We chose this fancy, fairly expensive steakhouse across town. We’ve had a $100 gift certificate for almost a year now and it was about to expire. Our table was along the wall and up on a riser. We’re both seated on the same side of the table. There’s no room on the other side because it’s a step down. It was just one step up and there was a round table with six well dressed people on the main floor right in front of us. We had a great meal and even had a nice surprise because our daughter was there with her father, my wife’s ex. We both ordered the filet. I had a baked potato, which came with a small container of sour cream. After our meal, the busboy cleared our plates and set them on a tray. My plate slid off of the tray and the container of sour cream hit the floor. Hard. The sour cream went flying and sprayed a woman sitting at the round table. She’s covered in sour cream from head to toe. You couldn’t have planned this any better if you tried. Okay, that was pretty funny to me but not laugh out loud funny. Then, the woman makes a scene and that’s where I started to lose my shit. “Oh my god” she screams. “What was that?” She goes on and on as the poor busboy is trying to pat her down and clean up the sour cream. The more of a scene she causes the tougher it is for me to contain my laughter. Instead of getting up and going to the bathroom to clean up, she sits there and continues to complain loudly. She’s mostly cleaned off. Except for a big glob of sour cream in her hair which the busboy doesn’t notice. At this point, the lovely Missus, who really does have just as warped a sense of humor as I do, says to me, “she looks like she’s in that scene from Something About Mary. That’s when I completely lost it and the tears start running down my face. The rest of the people at the round table are shooting me dirty looks which makes it even funnier to me. I may be fifty but I still have the sense of humor of a twelve year old.